The Trouble with SteamPunk
by akira-chan1
Summary: Kaptain Kirkalnd is the most feared pirate of the skies and seas, and he will stop at nothing to get what he wants. Navy commander Alfred F. Jones, however, has something completely different in mind. Steampunk AU! Sky pirate Uk and Navy Us
1. Reminiscence

**The Trouble with Steampunk**

_Fire. It was all he could see. The flames licked the elegant wallpaper of his beloved home, burning, burning. Tears streamed relentlessly down the cheeks of the young boy as he frantically yelled for his mother, his father, for anyone. He gasped as the thick smoke began to blur his vision, choking him with its poisonous breath. Everything was hazy, his room, the grand hallways, everything but the blaze that consumed greedily. His eyes stung, his lungs burned, but he ran. He ran deeper into the inferno, until he was at the heart of it. There, in the grand midst of the fiery pit, he saw it. It stood elegantly, proudly against the stark flames. It continued to tick, the rich mahogany un charred by the dancing flames, its appearance more majestic in the core of the mayhem. Gasping what may have been his last breath, he stumbled across the smoldering room and towards the royal grandfather clock, clutching only his father's pendant. Only feet from his desired destination, the roof above him gave in, and all went black. _

His eyes sprang open. He was gasping heavily, his golden hair plastered onto his forehead. Blinking repeatedly, he sat up and wiped away the sweat from his brow, grimacing at the sheer amount of it. He looked about his cabin, his jade eyes searching his richly furnished lodgings to the Grandfather clock ticking familiarly in the far corner.

"You had a nightmare" it chimed.

England shook his head before swinging into a sitting position on the edge of his bed.

"It was about the fire, wasn't it?" It was more of a statement than an inquiry.

"Hardly." He lied. England winced at the sound of his hoarse voice. He must have been screaming. Sighing, he hastily got out of his bed and threw on a shirt over his lean body. He gave a sparing glance at the mirror, comparing himself from the boy of his previous nightmare. England had much matured since then; his cheeks were no longer round with the pleasant signs of youth, but had thinned out over the years. His body as well went through the marvelous changes that time brought; his short limbs having stretched out to its full length, his chest now broadened, bearing the signs of complete manhood and his stubble fingers where now long and nimble. His form in total gave him the appearance of about a man in his early twenties, though he was hardly older than seventeen. He had Grandfather to thank for that, he thought unrepentantly, before searching his wardrobe to get properly dresses.

"Tch," grandfather clucked, "It's hardly good to lie to your grandfather, England."

"Yeah, yeah, says the Cuckoo clock that taught me how to be a thief and a liar" he taunted, pulling out a fresh pair of pants from his wardrobe.

"I am _not_ a Cuckoo clock," Grandfather said indignantly, "Those things are far more annoying than you paint me to be. Plus, they are hardly conversational" he added. England scoffed out a breathy laugh. If grandfather had a face (well, he technically _did_), he was sure he would be smirking right now.

"Not many unanimated objects are conversational, my dear care taker." England said, turning from his wardrobe, robes in hand. "Oh, now you're just mocking me." Grandfather fumed. "Since when do you ever give me an endearment?"

"Maybe it's because every time I do, you react as if the pope himself had flicked off the Grand king Baaryon" England said, walking past the anthropomorphic Clock and picking up his goggles from the crystal stand.

"Really, England, that was hardly appropriate." he mused. England made a quiet _tch _soundbefore unlocking the door to his cabin. "I'm going to take a shower, I won't be long." He said casually over his shoulder before closing the door behind him.

"Don't forget to scrub behind your ears! Lord knows that you have years of rubbish behind them."

* * *

><p>England closed his eyes as the icy water splashed his back. He had really, <em>really <em>needed this, especially after last night's reminiscence. It's not as if he hadn't dreamt (well, that was hardly the word for It. It was really much more of a sick sense of nostalgia ) of It before, but every time he had, he couldn't help but to get a ailing feeling of forgetfulness, like something was _missing_ from the memory. Maybe it was the fact that he was the only survivor, or that he had mysteriously wound up inside the case of the Grandfather Clock, his face hidden by the pendulum bob. Or it even could have been that despite everything having been burnt down to ashes, the grandfather clock had stayed perfectly intact. There was no doubt in England's mind that Grandfather was magical, there were not many (if any) mechanical pieces of woodsmen work that could talk, nor any that somehow manage to move an entire human being from a pile of burning rubble and into its case. The whole notion of it was simply absurd. But if that was the case, his very existence now was more than absurd, much more the things he was doing.

England picked up the soap and lathered his body absent mindedly, his thoughts now focused on the 'absurdities' of his life, a slight smile gracing his face. Even before the fire, he knew that Grandfather was no ordinary clock. As a child, England had grown up thinking that having a rabbit and clock as his only companions was perfectly normal. Not to mention that the rabbit was actually a shape shifter and the clock was anthropomorphic, but those were only minor details. In any case, the rabbit (admittedly called fluffy) and Grandfather would only show their true nature around him. He recalled Grandfather saying something about the fact that he was 'pure-hearted' but England knew now that that was total and complete bull shit.

After the fire, England and the clock had gone their separate ways; England being adopted and Grandfather resold. He had never forgotten that feeling of complete and utter loneliness as he sat in his new and alien room, Fluffy in hand and the gentle whispering of the local faeries. Yes, faeries. Apparently, England had a strange aurora that drew the supernatural creatures in, which on one hand, was rather useful. Then again, fighting off ghost and demons were no fun either, that and the fact that he was constantly teased by the other children.

Regardless of this, England could never discount the sensation of complete incredulity on that late summer's evening, when he saw the movers carry in none other than the Old Grandfather clock. When he had given his adoptive parents a questioning look, they had just smiled at him, saying something along the lines of "We just want you to feel at home". Since then, up to the age of twelve, England lived a happy life and normal(ish) life with his adoptive family and uncanny friends. At this point, nothing could have gone wrong.

Chuckling ruefully, England grabbed the cloth from the bottom of the tub and commenced washing his face.

Then came that night in late September. He was sound asleep, he recalled, when Grandfather beckoned him. Normally, England would have ignored such summoning at the hour it was, but there was something urgent in Grandfather's voice that begged him. When he had reached his companion, there was a quick blur of movement and before England knew it, he had been whisked away. When he had come to the next morning, he was on the dock of an unknown port, in an unknown area. He was trapped inside of Grandfathers glass cage once more, which was considerably more cramp since the last time, and he began banging on the walls desperately. He had cried out loud, he had begged, he tried everything to grab his attention and _just let him out_ when he saw something unexpected. Fluffy's face had appeared from one of the brass weights, and while she had said nothing, her eyes had said it all. Suddenly understanding everything, England had then sat quietly in the box of the clock's belly, and wept silently.

The events that followed afterward were of simpler measures. England was raised by Grandfather, who as being old as he is, taught him to earn his livings through pick pocketing, gambling, conning, and fighting. Though for a while they had lived on the streets, they mainly made their living abroad the various airships that adorned the sky. Because England, as a young lad, had learned the way of the deceitful, he was quite successful amongst the ruthless sky pirates. Right. He had nearly forgotten to mention that he was a bandit, traveling illegally on stolen aircrafts and plundering other richer and grander ships-both sky and sea. There eventually came a time where England was strong enough (thanks to Grandfathers unmerciful and rigorous training) and respected enough that he grew independent from the group of Pirates he was traveling. So, without saying so much as a word to anyone, he had silently swept away in the night, taking only what he could on his back. And then some. England smirked. He could only imagine the crew's utter dismay when they found that their whole gold hoard and treasure maps went missing with the young lad they had come to know as England Kirkland.

Since then, England had started up his own "practice" with his personal, hand-picked crew. Seeing that the lot of them were men and women that only England could absolutely trust with his own life, and that they were all _very_ skilled fighters, he had become to be known none other than Kaptain Kirkland-the most feared pirate amongst the skies and seas. He would have much preferred a more humble title, such as 'The Impervious Illicit' but the Military's most wanted list had already decided for him. He sighed. Sometimes being the most wanted man to both the military and navy had its cons. But on the other hand, tricking officers and high-jacking first grade bi-planes was such fun.

England turned off the faucet, shaking his head like a dog. He grabbed his garments and quickly changed into his clothes, the fine cloth and leather pleasantly rubbing against his skin. After tying the laces that withheld his armor, he took a step out of the bathroom and came face to face with a very startled maids woman, who upon seeing the stranger in her master's bathroom, began shrieking aloud for help. England quickly rushed passed the woman, who had dropped the towels she was carrying, and jumped off the high window in which he had broken in. England chuckled to himself as he continues running off the front garden of the mansions house, dodging the bullets that the landlord of the house was firing at him.

It was so fun not having a shower on the ship.


	2. Chapter 2

The Trouble with Steampunk chap 2

"All hands on board, sir!"

Alfred nodded at the E-3 as he walked briskly towards the ledge that oversaw the control panels, looking keenly down at the men who worked there. They buzzed along, quickly following the orders that the lieutenant commander was barking at them, tightening the valves on the pressure tank, securing the air supply and just checking the overall basic maintenance of the grand submarine. The quest that they were about to embark on was simple enough, but why then is a commander such as Alfred F. Jones doing on board? It was a questioning look that many of the lower ranking seas man had given him as he had made his way into the entrance of the Submarine, and one even had the guts to ask him. Now, it wasn't as if Alfred was stern, morbid man (in fact he was quite the opposite- he was always smiling and goofing around when it was least needed. It made many of the soldiers wonder how he managed to get a ranking at all), but it's was probably due to the sparkling eagle that was pinned on the folds of his brisk blue uniform. Or maybe it was just the uniform itself, Alfred had always thought it had always made him appear more serious and intimidating than he really is. He wasn't exceptionally tall, being a decent 5'8, so he couldn't blame it on his height either. He sighed. Sometimes it was hard to be one of the higher ups in the navy, always having to take complains and nothing but boring meetings and missions and just serious business. Though he didn't mind some of the mission, considering he was allowed to kick some bad guy butt.

Especially if it involved _him._

Since he was an E-1, Alfred had dreamed of capturing the famous bandit Sylicer, a man- no, a _demon, _that had terrorized the world for more than fifty eight years. Surely he must be dead, right? Wrong. Apart from being a thief, murderer, rapist, terrorist, and many other evil occupations, he was brilliantly good with dark magic. As records show it, he had been shot in the head, heart, and stomach, pronounced dead thirteen times and was able to somehow revive each time even after he was buried, cremated and chopped up in pieces and keeping the limbs and organs in separate places. It was mind-boggling. Many say he sold his soul to the devil for immortality. Others said he _was_ the devil, treading the lands and bringing the fury of hell with him. Alfred scoffed. It was hardly a logical, besides, magic wasn't real. Of course it wasn't. Ghosts, maybe, but never magic.

Regardless, the most recent information of him had stopped over twenty years ago when he had vanished all together, but Alfred _knew_ that it wasn't the last of him. It never was. There had been rumors of a new bandit, one almost as feared and maleficent as Sylicer, who went under the name of Kaptain Kirkland. His deeds were far too similar to Sylicer's for Alfred's taste and he knew that this Kirkland fellow was somehow connected to him, maybe even brought up by him. Alfred's face grew dark. If he couldn't get to Sylicer, he would at least bring Kirkland down and annihilate him in such a fashion that Sylicer would tremble in his sleep. He would make sure of it.

As he was deep in contemplation a young officer came up to him, saluted him and handed him a paper before marching off. It was scroll with the seal of the vice admiral flashing brilliantly with its silver gleam. Alfred opened it, scanning the rich calligraphy before snapping it close, a slight smile placed on his lips.

"Everything is ready sir," Stated the captain, not forgetting to salute. Alfred simply nodded and the ruckus began once again as the seaman began to bring the Sub to life.

He looked up into the grand window, watching the water steadily rise. He smiled. "I do hope you've prepared yourself _Arthur_. It seem we're going to pay you a visit."

* * *

><p><p>

England eyed the map warily. It was spread neatly on his rich mahogany desk, among all his other possessions of gold and fine jewels. It just didn't make sense. The map was sputtering on about a hidden city on the immediate shores of Tanyus, which was impossible. England had been there several times and never once did he ever find any traces of a hidden city.

"That's why it's called a _hidden_ city, my boy"

England looked up, surprised at the sudden interjection. Grandfather was facing him, ticking steadily.

"How did you know what I was thinking?" He asked, bewildered.

"It's written all over your face, darling. It's a wonder how you managed to succeed at poker with your emotions scrawled all over your face like that."

England flushed. He despised being read so easily, especially by Grandfather (though he will admit that grandfather was particularly talented on reading the face of even to most impassive man). It wasn't good for his image and it always showed the enemy that you had weakness, for any emotion was considered a weakness. Never show sentiment, never express fear, joy, anger, grief, envy, and above all, _never_ show love. Even to your family, your friends, your most intimate lover, to _no one._ And to be caught with his emotions unguarded by his keeper was a little more than embarrassing.

"Tch. Or maybe it's the fact that you're a magical talking piece of clockwork that can probably read minds as well." He retorted, leaning back on his handsomely decorated chair. He placed his boots on the top of the desk, crossing them and letting chips of dirt scatter on his desk.

"You know very well I can't read minds, though I can easily predict thoughts. That is where the art of observation comes in-you can always expose the most basic information of any person if you just take note of the details to their clothes and body. It's simple really, once you've learned"

England just rolled his eyes. Grandfather had slipped into one of his "lessons" and he was hardly in the mood to listen. Plopping his boots back on the ground, he stood up and properly put on his cloak that was hanging from his shoulders not a moment ago, before promptly marching out the door despite Grandfather's angry protests. Outside of his room and study, he quickly locked the door before securing it quickly with a sealing rune. He placed the key back on the chain that hung around his neck, along with his father's pendant and a small, peculiar cross. He hummed down the corridor, pleased with himself for having ticked off Grandfather. The low ceilings and archways finally gave into open air and finally he was able to take a deep breath of fresh air. The cold wind against his clammy face was a pleasant change from the stuffy room just down the hall. If it was considered a hall at all. England opened his eyes from his blissful moment and scanned his working crew.

There was not a single living creature to be seen.

The main deck was scattered with contraptions of the most peculiar kind, all managing the ship. There were tiny spider-like gadgets up on the sails, slow heavy machinery that lumped around, carrying heavy artillery and goods down to the hold, lithe bird-like androids fumbling with generator and steam tank, and even a human like android minding the steering wheel. There were more robots around, somewhere, probably in the hold, but England didn't concern himself with them at the moment. He knew that they were doing their duty. Instead, he made a beeline to the human automaton on the quarter deck. The machine turned to him, saluted his briefly before flashing a robotic smile.

"What can I do for you Captain?" It buzzed.

"Nothing much Carter, just give the usual updates and stats." He grinned, placing his arm on his shoulder and leaning on him slightly.

"Very well, Captain." Carter chirped, his reflective eyes going bright with information and began analyzing the steering wheel (which, by the way, was also an advanced apparatus). England smiled. _This_ was his crew. These were the beings that he could trust with his life, his handpicked-hand made group. He had specially designed each and every last one of them, giving them special traits. Carter in particular was a very amiable figure. England had spent many months designing his "brain" alone and about two years to get all the parts and necessary information. It took another six months to get him working properly and armed. He was the second most dangerous robot on board, but despite his (quite literally) killer potential, he was a very tame fellow. He knew more about literature than England did which always made for a good and interesting conversation. He was hardworking and diligent as well.

A loud squeaking sound awoke England out of his revere. It had emanated from Carter, who despite being a robot looked rather nervous.

"What's the matter?" He asked, concerned. Carter was hardly the anxious type.

"It's the Navy," he gulped, "They're heading right towards us."

* * *

><p>Some additional info on the terms used in this (and past) chapters<p>

E-3- A rank in the navy, basically a Seaman. It's about the equivalent of your average soldier (if I'm not mistaken. Feel free to correct me if I am)

Commander-_Is_ a high ranking. It's only six places behind the Fleet Admiral, who is basically the ultimate seme of the Navy. (Again, correct me if I'm mistaken)

Authors note: I'd like to apologize for the slow speed of the events. I haven't written fanfiction in a long while and I'm still a tad bit rusty. Though every time I see a review or favorite, it always brightens my day motivates me to keep continue writing! Also, I'd like to thank Wolfie832 for reviewing and hollownobody for helping me out.


	3. Chapter 3

**The Trouble with Steampunk chap3**

Commander Jones smirked deviously. Kirkland's ship was plain in view, drifting lazily amongst the clouds. There was no way that the bandit would be able to detect them-not this deep underwater at least. Though Alfred did find it a bit strange that the sky pirate was flying over open waters in the first place; it only made him a perfect target for the navy. Certainly such a clever pirate knew this. He shook his head, shaking off the slight feeling of apprehension. Whatever the reason, this was a golden opportunity that he would not miss. Not even for food.

"Target is spotted, sir!" cried an E-3. "What action should we take?"

"The natural one," Alfred stated airily, "We attack."

* * *

><p>"Is that so?" England had returned to his previous position of leaning on Carter, casually cleaning his nails with his pocket knife.<p>

"Yes sir." He nodded, scanning the steering wheel. "It seems to be an M41."

"Uhu."

"It is four times the size and mass of our ship with triple the artillery."

"Go on."

"They have six armored Bi-pods ready to launch."

"Mhm."

"The crew consists of forty men, two petty officers, and…What's this?" Carter leaned closer to the wheel, squinting his florescent bulbs.

England paused his nail picking, curious as to what caught the robots attention.

"There seems to be a commander on board, captain."

He resumed his nail cleaning.

A moment of silence passed between them, Carter shifting awkwardly while England continued to disregard the world. Finally, England sighed before placing his knife back in his pocket.

"Very well, I guess we best prepare to welcome our guests. Who knows, Carter? Maybe the sub is made of good metal-we may get you a new processor yet."

* * *

><p>All units were ready; it was just a matter of consent. The ship above continued at its languid pace, seemingly oblivious to the battle that was about to ensue. Petty Officer Stan gave Commander Jones a questioning look, in which he responded with a nod. Just as the signal was given, the ship above them stuttered before surging forward, the sound barrier broken. Alfred stood stunned, staring at the spot where the ship was cruising only a second ago and then quickly turning towards the horizon where the ship was now, soaring at an incredible velocity. He stared only for a second more before quickly turning red with rage and embarrassment.<p>

"After them! Quickly!" he cried, his glasses nearly falling off in his excitement.

The engine then roared to life before rushing forward with a tremendous force, knocking Alfred and most of the standing crew members off their feet. He landed hard against one of the metal walls, his head bouncing with the force. Wincing at his newly attained bruise (and most likely concussion, but he got those plenty), he stood up and ran towards the control panel in front of the large window facing the surface of the sea. He caught a glimpse of the airship, it was certainly closer, but not nearly close enough.

"Surface the sub! We need more speed!"

One of the E-3s in charge of the controls turned around and gave him a nervous look.

"But commander, if we do that, it'll leave us wide open for atta-"

"Does it _look_ like he's planning to attack? He's running like hell and if we don't catch up to him, this whole operation is as good as…" Alfred drifted off, stopping himself from revealing than more than he already had.

The E-3 stared at him for a second longer before nodding solemnly and turning to the controls, pressing multiple buttons before a siren announced that the sub was surfacing. Men scattered about readying the firearms in case of an attack and a few more slipping into their flying suits, ready to enter the bi-pods at a moment's notice. Among the chaos, Alfred took the liberty of heading over to the extra artillery room across the sea of men and grabbed himself a small but powerful revolver perched on the shelf. He smiled briefly at it before pocketing it and heading back out into the mayhem. Just as he stepped out, he heard desperate cries from the radar watchman.

"He's gone! The airship, it's gone!"

Taken aback and more than troubled, Alfred marched up the stairs to the radar's stand where an E-3 was sweating fearfully. Alfred peered over at the radar-he was right. The ship was nowhere in sight. Confused, angered and more than frustrated, he slammed his hand against the apparatus with such force that the glass spider webbed across the screen, just as a blinking dot appeared on the far lower right corner. Puzzled, Alfred leaned closer. No, it wasn't a mistake; the dot was must definitely there, flashing almost mockingly. He gave a sparing glance at the E-3 in charge of the radar who in return held his hands up defensively. Again, Alfred studied the radar and took note of the airships position. He was more than startled. The blinking dot, which according to the radar was far behind them only a moment ago, was now tailing them at a distance of a little less than a few hundred yards. He watched in horror as the airship closed the distance and was directly above the submarine, flying in perfect harmony with the sub. It was only then did he notice that the clamor in the background had abruptly stopped and eerie silence had befallen on the crew completely. Almost hesitantly, Alfred turned around to the direction of the large window. There he witnessed a spectacle that he was bound to never forget.

* * *

><p>AN: Sorry for such a slow update, I've been more than busy with homework, finals and even a steampunk con. I hope you find it in your heart to forgive me. Welp, not too much going on this chapter, but I promise there will be most spectacular battle of epic proportions next chapter-that is, if I'm talented enough to right it X)

Terms:

M41-I made this up. I later learned it was also a tank, type of gun and a most interesting constellation.

Bi-pods: Originally derived from the Bi-planes. They're basically tinier better armed versions of bi-planes, with a thicker windshield to deflect bullets. They don't really exist though-just an invention from the eccentric world of my mind ;)

Muchos Gracias to The-doodle-queen, Ally plz, VermillionPrincess, Deemo, and Homofabulous for reviewing! Tis much appreciated ;D


	4. Chapter 4

**The Trouble With Steampunk Chpt 4**

England sat perched at the top of the yard, eyes bright, looking down at the lovely spectacle that was set before him. Presently, it seemed as if most movement on board below had stopped completely. He chuckled. That was the sort of effect his crew tended to have on people, especially when they were in combat formation. As they drew nearer to the sub, England did a quick check up on the steam pack that was fastened to his back.

High pressurized steam: check. Valves greased and arranged in their proper settings: check.

Heavy long rage rockets, on hand grenades and dual double edged daggers: check

Seeing that everything was in proper order, England took one last glance at ship before strapping on his goggles, and with nod to Carter, he promptly jumped out and dived into the sky below.

* * *

><p>Alfred was yelling. More accurately, he was screaming and so loudly that it was nearly incomprehensible. Not that it would have made much of a difference, though, considering that the entirety of the sub was enveloped in complete and utter chaos. The dead silence of only moments ago was over done by the deep drone of mechanical wings that darkened the sky. Attached to the innumerable pair of wings were machines of the most terrifying and peculiar kind; animal like androids, armored in heavy artillery never before seen by the likes of any of them. And while Alfred wasn't so concerned about the artillery, the sight of such horrifying creatures and the sheer number alone was more than enough to send the crew into a panicked frenzy. Outraged by this display of terror, he swiftly stomped his way over to the control panel once more, grabbed a hold of the microphone and flipped the switch on before yelling furiously.<p>

"EVERY ONE CALM THE FUCK DOWN"

Startled by this obscene display, most of the crew members paused and look towards their commander who was currently red faced and breathing heavily.

"Now," he said softly, "if you '_men'_ would so kindly _**get into positions **_so we _**fucking **_defend ourselves, I would be much obliged."

The men gave each other a startled glance before quickly hurrying themselves to their previous positions. Satisfied by the show of cooperation, Alfred placed the microphone into its original position and was about head toward the captain, when the glass behind him shattered abruptly and in entered a group of mechanical creatures.

Swiftly, Alfred withdrew his revolver from his coat at shot at three of the robots in quick, unremitting sessions, each one exploding magnificently from the pure amount of power packed into the bullets. Unfazed by the powerful recoil, he turned back to face his crew, eyes bright with excitement.

"Now," he breathed "let's not keep Kaptain Kirkland waiting, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Softly, England quietly landed on the roof of the grand submarine. He then laid on his stomach and withdrawing the Dartle Emissionator (again, another invention that England was quite fond of), he proceeded to burn a hole through the titanium roof as if it where tin. Once completed, England took a sample of the three metals that made up the two inch thick exterior armor of the sub. Pocketing his laser, he observed and classified to three metals as titanium, iron, and copper.<p>

'_Not bad," _he thought, '_Mayhaps I may take the liberty of taking a few meters along with me when all is resolved.'_

Stealthily, he dismounted his steampack and slipped through the burnt edged hole, a smile scrawled on his face.

* * *

><p>At this point, things were turning out fantastically. The sky that was their battlefield was exploding beautifully with the insides of the wretched mechanisms. Of course, Alfred had to admit that they did take a few blows as well, seeing as the glass was completely shattered all around, one or two of the creatures happened to make it through their defenses, and the rockets and lasers did manage to make a hole here and there, but it was nothing in comparison to the damage that they were inflicting. Of the easily hundreds of creatures, only a few fifty seemed to remain. The rest were either scattered on the floor or floating in the water below like lifeless bodies. And as for everything else, it seemed to be going smoothly as well. The men were fighting valiantly in their positions, shooting their Bk-27 autocannons diligently and without mercy, others firing larger rockets on the chair guns placed on the higher levels of the sub, and some simply shooting at the creatures that manage to slip by their defenses. Among these men was Alfred, swiftly taking out the automatons with his powerful revolver that he personally modified.<p>

He was energetic to say the least; the excitement of battle always seemed to give him more vigor and life. He was thrilled with every triumph; every fallen enemy gave him more energy to take on the next. And the best part was that he didn't even flinch when the androids squealed in their mechanic, high pitched voices. They were only machines. Ever since Alfred's first battle, he had been reluctant with the idea of taking the lives of even enemy soldiers (unless if it was Sylicer of course, he'd take him down without thinking twice) . It was always a problem for him, for even on assassination missions he was known to give mercy. But now in the face of such hideous, non-living creatures, all the inner tension and rage that was bubbling within was released, and fantastically so.

At last, the final shot was fired and the last of the mechanic beings plunged into the depths of the roaring waters. Exhilarated and joyful, Alfred and this crew of men cheered with glee, some throwing their hats in victory, others hugging and high fiving, and some simply continuing their work. Alfred received many handshakes and brofists, simple smiles and nods of appreciation and respect. At this point, his heart was swelling with such joy that he could no longer hold his professional composure and instead flashed radiant smile, eyes bright and glowing.

Eventually, the thrill of victory calmed down and all the men proceeded to clean up the aftermath of the battle, picking up pieces of gadgets and bronze and repairing the holes in the upper walls of the sub. In his good nature, Alfred helped the E-3's sweep up the remnants of the machines, taking off his the upper layer of his uniform and working in his tank top instead. As he was sweeping and humming a catchy tune, he caught glimpse of an E-3 with blood on his shoulder dejectedly picking up the burnt metal and chugging it into a bag. Confused and worried for the fellow, Alfred walked over to the sailor and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey there," he said softly, "You seem injured. Do you want me to patch you up?"

To his surprise, the E-3 didn't respond but continued to sorrowfully pick up the debris, not even facing the commander. Now Alfred was more than confused regarding his behavior. They had just defeated an army of Kirkland's gang and there were no casualties. What could possibly bring the poor fellow down?

"Hey," he said once more, "let me fix you up, okay?"

He pulled the E-3's arm gently and though the sailor still refused to look him in the eye, he obediently followed Alfred into one of storage rooms in which the medication and rations were stocked. As Alfred closed the door behind him, he noticed that the E-3 was quickly advancing on him. Turning swiftly, he was about to strike when he realized that the E-3 wasn't walking, but falling. From offense to help mode, Alfred swoop down and grabbed the sailor just as he was about to hit the ground.

"Sorry," the sailor murmured. "Just a bit woozy there from the blood loss."

As he said this, he flashed a smile at Alfred that left him stunned. He was staring into the most brilliant jade eyes, profound and bright. It nearly left him breathless.

"Something wrong, Commander?" The sailor slurred, his eyes twinkling and his face pale. It was then that Alfred realized that the E-3 was still injured and loosing blood rapidly. Shaking his head to shoo off the light tinge of red on his cheeks (which was solely from embarrassment, mind you), he continued searching for the medical supplies.

Eventually, he found a basic first aid kit behind a box of aged biscuits and turned back to the sailor, who was currently lying on the floor, his arm thrown across his stomach and his jet black hair peeking out from under his hat. Alfred took a brief second to admire the soldier, wounded in battle and all the while remaining calm and breathing evenly despite his injuries. Sighing, he walked towards him with bandages and rubbing alcohol in hand. He then helped the soldier prop himself up against the wall, and then proceeded in unbuttoning his uniform. All the meanwhile, the soldier remained silent with the exception of the occasional remark on the battle. Finally as he took his shirt off, the sailor slumped towards him, his faced buried in Alfred's chest. Again Alfred's cheeks flared up and just as he was about to pluck the dark haired soldier off, he noticed three very odd things.

One, there was no injury on the E-3's bare shoulder. Two, under the locks jet black, a few strands of murky gold hair was peering out. And thirdly, the barrel of a far too familiar revolver was placed neatly under his jaw.

England pulled back from Alfred's chest, a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face, only to lean back in dangerously close to his face.

"What's wrong, _commander?" _He drawled, "Surprised to see me? Didn't think I'd let you win that easily now, did you?" England's the shocked look that Alfred displayed.

"K-Kirkland" he managed to stammer under the pressure of the gun.

"The one and only~"

Breaking out into a sweat, Alfred wracked his brain frantically for a way out of the current situation. Finding none, his eyes settled on the bloodied shirt that was hanging loosely off the delinquent's bare torso. Hoping for a distraction, Alfred gulped before clearing his voice.

"The shirt…."

England raised his eyebrow, but did not remove his catlike stare from his prey.

"I hardly think that is of the utmost concern at the moment, commander"

"How did you get it? W-where did the blood come from?"

At this, England's eyes twinkled menacingly, like glittering gold stolen from a dead man's pocket.

"Why, I borrowed it," said he "from a very unfortunate fellow that I happened to cross paths with upon my entering this grand sub. He was very surprised at seeing me, and frankly, so was I. He threatened to raise an alarm and I simply couldn't have such foul play."'

Stunned, Alfred stammered before finding his voice, even then it was barley louder than a whisper

"What…what did you do to him?"

England cocked his head to the side, an amused sneer placed snuggly on his face. Then, very slowly, he leaned in till his face was next to Alfred's, cheek brushing against cheek and whispered softly.

"I did nothing less to him than what you did to my crew."

Suddenly pulling back, aim still steady at Alfred's neck, England stood up, eyes now ablaze with fiery rage.

"And you will pay for great loss you've cost me," He snarled, "You'll pay dearly, _with all the live of all the men on deck." _

At this, Alfred's eyes widened. Then quickly, without warning, he bounced up and attacked England who reacted a second too late. Gripping England's wrists tightly and above his head, Alfred pinned him to the wall for only second before England responded by folding his legs beneath him, letting his full body weight drag him out and under from Alfred's grip and slipping between his legs . Then, quickly, he turned and round house kicked Alfred promptly in the back, hearing a satisfying crack and cry. Angered, Alfred turned, only wincing slightly before dodging another blow from England's fist, it only narrowly missing his face and knocking his glasses off. As he dodged the blow, he threw a punch of his own into Kirkland's stomach, who gasped and fell back onto the crates of food rations. Alfred, seeing his chance, took the opportunity to kick the gun from out of England's hand and then pin him down. Quickly, England kicked Alfred's legs from underneath him and he fell on top of him. The two then wrangled on the floor, constantly throwing punched to each other's face and abdomen whenever possible and trying to pin the other one down. In the middle of the brawl, England noticed that the revolver was now within his reach. Alfred read the menace in his eyes and they both lunged for the gun, both grabbing it at the same time and dragging it into their struggle.

In a mess of punches and bodies Alfred pulled the gun in between them and pulled the trigger. A loud gunshot rang and the two were suddenly still, one body on top of the other, a trickle of blood oozing out from in between them. A few second passed in which only haggard breaths were heard among the deadly silent before England peeled himself from top of Alfred's warm, sticky chest. Behind him, a large bullet hole the size of his fist was cratered in the wall and in his hand he held a bloodied double edged dagger, dripping the thick liquid onto the metal floor. Alfred remained in the floor, the dark crimson fluid pooling out from a gash in his side. His breathing was labored and strained, and England knew that he was done. Just as he was turning away, he heard Alfred gasp.

"You…won't…get a-away with this, A-arthur" he croaked.

Smirking, Arthur turned around a flashed a sneer.

"Just watch me."

* * *

><p>(AN) Oh man, this took a _lot_ longer than intended. I hope the longer chapter was worth the wait.

I'd like to thank all those who reviewed, and like to apologize as well. For some strange reason, my account won't let me respond to any of your reviews. It makes me sad because I'm unable to express how much I appreciate your feedback and encouragement. You make me gush with every review~ -w-

And now for a quick explanation: I've been getting a lot of questions regarding as to why England is known by his country name while everyone else is known by their human names. I was going to explain in a later chapter, but seeing as the questions continue, I might as well explain it now. In the world that this story takes place, nothing of the Geography is the same nor the names of the countries, but only the culture remains. "Our" world only exists in stories, faery tales you may say, and amongst one of the greatest legends is that of the Country-Island England. "Arthur" adapted this as his "professional" name.

Also, the "Dartle Emissionator" is just a fancy name for a laser :D (Dartle is to shoot forth repeatedly and Emission is to discharge, so repeatedly discharging laser ;])


End file.
